Halloween in Area 52
by Sei-sama
Summary: B.O.B. needs a Halloween costume. Dr. Cockroach works on something a little more important than anything to do with a stupid holiday.


**Happy Halloween! Although this is kinda redundant, isn't it, considering the Halloween special they already played that I still haven't watched yet...Oh well. Enjoy anyways! (I hope I didn't make the doc too frustrated!)  
**

* * *

"Doc."

Maybe if he ignored him, he'd go away.

"Hey. Doc. Hey. Heeeeeeey."

Maybe not.

"Can I assist you in any way, B.O.B.?" Dr. Cockroach looked up from his lunch/recent escape plan in building stage, his large eyes narrowed in an impatient glare.

"It's Halloween."

"I noted that when Link started moping over the lack of any innocent civilians to terrify. I noted that when Bill snuck up behind me and shouted very loudly, undoubtedly to induce me to jump and scream. I also noted that when you repeated 'It's Halloween' ad nauseum ever since breakfast. Has anything else of interest developed during this _joyous_ holiday?"

Dr. Cockroach grew terribly sarcastic when he was annoyed. Unfortunately, the primary source of his annoyance never seemed to make the connection. Or even knew there was a connection to make.

B.O.B. tried to decipher the mystery of 'ad nauseum' and gave up. "I don't have a Halloween costume."

"How unfortunate." Dr. Cockroach went back to work on his thing-whatsit amidst the pile of garbage.

"Well, can ya make one for me? You're good at making things."

"There's a shortage of fabric. And sewing machines."

"You can make those too, right?"

"While the sewing machine is certainly doable, there is also a shortage of cotton bolls, sheep, flax, silkworms, or any other plausible source of textiles."

B.O.B. turned this new thought over in his gelatin. "Can I just take some of this stuff? I know _exactly_ how to make my costume."

"B.O.B., you know I hate it when you play with my food." Maybe he should put his screwdriver down. If he wasn't careful, the whole thing might break apart…

"Well, you play with your food all the time." …Yes. It was time to put the screwdriver down.

Dr. Cockroach heaved out a sigh that danced with his drooping antennae before diffusing in the air. "It's not _playing_, it's _inventing a way to escape_. It's a stressful, repetitive activity that requires great aptitude to succeed. Also, when you play with my food, I tend to be peckish until the next meal."

"You forgot to mention that you get more tetchy than usual." Dr. Cockroach tensed, as was his usual reaction when Invisobill snuck up on him. The guy didn't mean to all the time. Sometimes he seemed to forget he was invisible. The scientist managed to calm himself down and checked on the FRM (Free-Roaming Mole). Still in one piece. Okay, now he could stare at Inviso—at the general area where Invisobill might be considering where his voice was coming from.

Invisobill, like B.O.B., was quite aggravating to Dr. Cockroach, although instead of child-like mentality and general brainlessness, Invisobill held a shocking lack of ambition. He never took part in the escape plans. Which was unfortunate, as an invisible man would have been very useful. And the fact that you couldn't see any clothes was rather disturbing. He still hadn't worked up the courage to ask if Bill was naked or not.

"I don't get _that_ irritable," the doctor said, well, irritably.

"You're right, I _completely_ forgot! It's your natural state of being."

"Woah, doc is made of Irritable?"

"…Yes, B.O.B. I'm composed of molecules of pure irritability."

"Huh. I wonder what _I'm_ made of."

"Benzoate Ostylezene Bicarbonate."

"Yeah?"

"You're made of it."

"What?"

"Benzoate Ostylezene Bicarbonate."

"Why do you keep saying my name?"

Dr. Cockroach made sure he didn't slam the table with anything like his head. That wouldn't be good for the delicate FRM.

Deep breaths. Remember. He has no brain. Now. Turn back to where Bill is…

He blinked. Bill wasn't there anymore. He could tell because a glob of his lunch seemed to be floating very quickly away from him. "C'mon, B.O.B.! Let's make yer Halloween costume!"

"Oh boy!" Pushing semi-philosophical questions aside, the blue blob sludged away happily. Soon, he'll be getting candy from all the neighbors!

Dr. Cockroach quickly grabbed something to squeeze. It turned out to be a tin can. It still had the faint aroma of peaches. Didn't taste so bad.

Bah. Nobody here appreciated the grueling work he did for all of them. You'd think the guy with all the escape plans would get more respect, but _nooooooo_…maybe if someone actually _helped_ him, they'd be free by now and Link and B.O.B. could have all the fun they wanted on this asinine holiday, horrifying, collecting tooth-rotting candy, whatever.

The doctor only stopped his bitter thoughts when Link lumbered up, scratching the back of his neck and looking over his shoulder. "Ah. What's he doing…?"

Dr. Cockroach looked up. B.O.B., wearing a mask (made out of parts of those plastic can holder…things) and holding out a small paper bag (from Walgreens, a large hole at the bottom). Since the blob couldn't find a doorbell, he had started knocking on the cold steel doors that separated them from the world. The force of the knocks made him jiggle. "Trick-or-treeaaat! Hellooooo, anybody home? Got any candy?"

"He's begging candy, isn't it obvious?" Link jumped in sync with his fellow inmate. The fish-ape could never tell when Bill was around either.

"You do understand that eventually, he will realize there is no candy to be had and drop into a depression?"

"Those usually only last a day. Besides, he really likes his costume, might as well put it to use. I'm sure something'll work out." B.O.B. continued knocking. With his constitution, the knocks had an odd quality to them. Instead of a '_thud thud_,' it was more gel-like, like a '_glong glong_.' Eventually, the speaker crackled.

_kshhht Stop that. ksssht_

"Can I have some candy? I worked so hard on this costume!"

_ksssht If we give you candy, will you stop knocking on the door? Ksssht_

"Yeah."

Luckily, everybody saw it coming and dived for the floor as the ceiling-mounted cannon shot a ham at the table. It made a startling cracking sound on impact, and the doctor thought that it would snap in two. But it simply scattered the trash all around.

Oh no.

"But that's not candy!"

Dr. Cockroach peeped over the edge of the table at the large ham. It seemed to have come off a pig taking steroids. And a sad, scraggly antenna underneath it indicated that it had just crushed the FRM.

_ksshhht It's, uh, candied ham. ksshhhrt_

"Awesome!" As B.O.B. rushed back to the table, absorbing any tiny trash barricades in the way, Dr. Cockroach righted the chair, sat on it once more, and cradled his head in his arms. Link stood awkwardly by.

"Uh, it's fine, I mean, I guess not, but it probably wouldn't've worked anywaysImeanuh…I'll just leave now."

B.O.B. horked down the ham.

He hated this holiday. So. Much.


End file.
